The Execution
by Syncop8ed Rhythm
Summary: There wasn't much of the body that hadn't been beaten or cut or burned, but it was Shawn. Juliet knew it was. Missing for two weeks, the gang had sent pictures of him and the damage they'd done to him. "We won't know for sure it's Shawn until the DNA results come back," Carlton said. Results which were made necessary because the gang had beheaded him. They'd beheaded Shawn.


AN: I am incredibly grateful to those of you who nominated and voted for my stories on the Psychfic Awards! This fandom is such a wonderful family to be a part of.

**The Execution**

_Shawn: "In your professional opinion, how do I die?"_

_Woody: "Murder. Execution. We never find your head."_

_"Feet Don't Kill Me Now"_

The body was...there wasn't much of the body that hadn't been beaten or cut or burned, but it was Shawn. She knew it was. Missing for two weeks, the gang had sent picture after picture of him and the damage they'd done to him. Picture after picture with dire warnings to stop the investigation or they would kill him.

The wounds on the body matched those that had been on Shawn in the pictures. It was him.

It was him.

She closed her eyes, head bowing, and flinched when she heard one of the officers near her throw up. She didn't blame him. It was a gruesome crime scene, made worse by how they all knew who the victim was.

"It might not be him," Carlton said, and Juliet opened her eyes and turned to look at him in muted surprise (she might be in shock). Empty platitudes had never been in Carlton's repertoire before. "We won't know for sure until the DNA results come back."

The results—which would take a week or so, depending on how backed up the lab was—that were made necessary because the gang had beheaded him. They had beheaded _Shawn_.

Her stomach heaved, and she closed her eyes again with a whimper. Warm weight rested on her shoulder, Carlton comforting how he could, and she would take it. She would take it because it was the only comfort she was going to get—Shawn's quick quips and quiet comfort silenced; his warm hand enfolding hers nothing but a memory; his ability to make her laugh even when she was so stressed she couldn't see straight a privilege she no longer had.

Because he was gone.

"Shawn?!" "SHAWN?!"

Their voices mixed together, but it was easy to tell who they were. Henry and Gus. Father and best friend.

"Oh, god," Juliet whispered.

Carlton was already moving to intercept them, Buzz discreetly sending a few more officers as back up. Henry and Gus didn't need to know how bad it was. They didn't need to _see. _

Shawn's headless body baked in the warm California sun, and Juliet swallowed once more before it was too much. She didn't even remember falling to the ground.

…

"You're off the case."

It wasn't the first thing the chief said when Juliet woke up to find herself in the hospital, but it was one of the first things she understood. (Her doctor mentioned something about shock before the chief started speaking to her.) Anger spiked at the order, and Juliet sat up straight in the hospital bed.

Vick held up a hand to stall Juliet. "You and Detective Lassiter and the rest of the department. We're too close. I've pulled in some officers from Los Angeles. They're the best of the best, O'Hara. I promise."

"I have to be involved," Juliet said, and she didn't recognize the way her voice sounded. Hoarse and thin and _flat. _

Shawn was gone.

"I've requested that we be kept in the loop, but none of us will be investigating the case."

"That's bull-"

"O'Hara," the chief cut her off, "you aren't in the right frame of mind to investigate. The man who was murdered was quite possibly your boyfriend."

"It _was_ my boyfriend! Shawn is dead. He's _dead, _and we all know it!"

The room was spinning oddly, the lights too bright, and then the chief was standing right in front of her. The other woman's hands were bracing her face as she forced Juliet to look at her.

"You listen to me, Detective. Nothing is confirmed until we get those results. For now, the LAPD team will be investigating as though Mr. Spencer is still alive and in need of rescue. Do you understand me?"

Juliet blinked once, twice. She shook her head, and the chief's hands moved to her shoulders to gently shake her. "At this time, we operate under the belief Mr. Spencer is still alive. Under the belief _Shawn_ is _still alive._ Do you understand me, Juliet?"

Swallowing, Juliet forced a nod, and the chief nodded back. Juliet still didn't believe it, though.

"Where...where are Gus and Henry?" she asked as Vick stepped away.

"Here."

Henry sounded even worse than she did. Despite whatever pep talk the chief may have given him, too, he knew. He'd seen the pictures of his son as they came into the station. He'd even possibly seen the mutilated body.

Henry knew. He just hadn't accepted it yet.

Gus came into the room right behind him, eyes puffy and glazed as he focused on her. "You...feeling okay?" he asked slowly.

She simply looked at him as she swung her legs off the bed, and Gus swallowed noisily. "Yeah," he said, body slumping in on itself.

The heavy weight of their loss kept them frozen by Juliet's bed until Henry pulled her and Gus into a hug—the grieving father still a father. Gus has been like a second son to him since the boys were small, and Juliet became the daughter he'd never had once she and Shawn started dating. Juliet curled one arm in to her chest to rest heavily against Henry, the other wrapped desperately around Gus' back.

Shawn was gone.

As they were driving away from the hospital, Juliet tucked into the passenger seat, Henry made the invitation for them both to stay at his house. Gus thanked him quietly and accepted, while Juliet watched the scenery pass by.

"What are we supposed to do now?" she asked, eyebrows furrowing when she realized they were at Henry's house much quicker than she'd expected. She wasn't tracking things well since she'd been at the crime scene—time either passed too quickly or much too slowly. Unlike Shawn's time, which had passed completely.

She felt a surge of irritation—how selfish of him, to leave without her. To leave at all. He'd always been selfish, taking all of her until she wasn't Juliet anymore. She was Shawn-and-Juliet.

Just Juliet, now.

"Damn you," she whispered, and she couldn't say whether she was speaking to Shawn or the gang who had stolen him from her.

"We wait," Henry finally said in answer to her question. They were all sitting in the car still, staring at the house Shawn had grown up in. "We wait until the DNA results come in. After that…"

He trailed off because there was nothing left to say. There was no way to plan, nothing _to_ plan. Not until the results confirmed what they knew, and they had to plan Shawn's funeral.

The sobs came unbidden, harsh and painful. She folded over in the seat, trying so hard to stifle them, to calm herself. She was not the only one grieving. She had no right to behave as though she was the only one hurt by Shawn's execution.

She gave another sob at the realization. Executed. Beheaded. Oh _god. _

"Come here," Henry murmured, voice thick with his own emotion. He pulled her over to him and wrapped his arms around her, his chin resting on her head. Gus was in the backseat, his own breath hitching.

"_Sympathy crier," _she could hear Shawn say.

_It's not sympathy this time, Shawn. You shouldn't have left us._

…

"The DNA results haven't come in yet," Lassiter said, running his fingertips along the edge of the folder he was holding before he handed it over to her. "I've been watching the team from the LAPD. They're surprisingly competent."

It was high praise from the detective, but she didn't spare him a second look as she took the folder and began reading.

"I'm not sure you seeing this is the best idea," he admitted lowly, and she did look up at that.

"I deserve to know."

Lassiter's face tightened at her response, but he didn't argue. He'd brought her the preliminary reports, detailing some of the evidence found at the crime scene and on the body. On Shawn. Injuries were listed, too: multiple lacerations from various sized blades, lacerations on his back from a whip, multiple contusions from beatings, burn marks ranging his body from his neck to his feet, water in his lungs, broken bones…

The more she read, the more Juliet found it difficult to draw a deep breath.

The evidence processed so far was the same as what they'd found on other victims of the gang's blood thirst. Enough to point them in a direction; not enough to get a search warrant, let alone make an arrest. If ever they could use a psychic vision, now was the time.

"O'Hara," Lassiter started, and Juliet cut him off.

"How long until the results come back?"

Carlton's face tightened again. "They claim at least a week."

"We've already been waiting for four days." She swung her gaze to the top of the report where the victim's name was John Doe. They'd fill out a new report, put in Shawn Spencer when the results came back. She closed the folder and hugged it close to her chest.

He'd always loved nicknames, the monikers coming from his mouth with little thought. _Jules, buddy, Lassie, Papa Bear. _In turn, his father called him "Kid," his mother "Goose." He'd been Aurora Borealis, once. Wilting Flower, another—a prank he'd pulled on Gus as kids and that he'd told her about between peals of laughter.

"_I'm Shawn Spenstar. This is my partner, Gus T.T. Showbiz"_

"_My name is Ichabod Fletchman, Sticky-Icky to my boys. But that's neither here, nor there."_

_My name is Shawn Spencer, but you can call me John Doe._

It didn't _fit._

"O'Hara, can I have the folder back?" Carlton asked gently. He was tugging on it, probably had been for a little while already—she hadn't even noticed. She released her white-knuckled grip on the file to let him take it.

"You need to sleep," he said after a few moments of silence went by.

She didn't flinch, but it was a near thing. "Can't," she said. She pursed her lips together and looked up at her partner. "He's alive in my dreams."

Lassiter's jaw worked, eyes boring into hers with a sudden intensity. "And he may still be alive now, O'Hara. We don't know."

"I do," she whispered. "I knew as soon as they sent us the first picture. Shawn was a dead man. The body only confirmed it."

Bowing his head, Lassiter cursed. "O'Hara…" he trailed off.

A lot of people were doing that around her lately.

"Far be it from me to give you false hope," he finally said. "It doesn't look good for Spencer. _But_," he said as he looked her straight in the eye, "I also know he's survived situations he had no business living through. I have counted him out before, and I have been proven wrong each time. I'm not going to count him out yet."

"You saw his body," she shot back, and there was actual fire in the tone, instead of the blankness that came from her shock.

"I saw the body of a Caucasian male in his 30s," Carlton answered. "Yes, he was injured much the same way as Spencer was, but this gang has been irritating us for years. They're smarter than we gave them credit for in the beginning. This may be nothing but a ruse to throw us off their track!"

She breathed heavily through her nose, shaking her head as she refused to believe him. "Think what you will. I can't ignore the facts. Not this time."

She stepped away from him and made her way up the stairs, leaving Lassiter behind in the living room, speechless. She hesitated outside of Shawn's old bedroom before she carefully opened the door and stepped in. Letting out a shaky sigh at the knickknacks and memorabilia that decorated the space, she walked across the room and curled up in the center of his bed.

Sleep beckoned, but she ignored it. She didn't need to dream of the twinkle in Shawn's eyes, or the warmth of his hands on her, or the way he'd pull her into his side when they were sitting together. Not when the dreams made her forget he was no longer alive.

Those memories were _her_ torture, more bitter than sweet.

…

"You need to come with us."

The voice belonged to a man in a rumpled green dress shirt (Shawn had loved that color) and crumpled black dress pants. A detective badge winked at her from its place on his belt beside his sidearm and a pair of handcuffs.

"All of you," he added, eyes resting on both Henry and Gus before landing back on Juliet.

"What's wrong, Detective?" Henry asked as he moved to stand by her side, his hand settling on her shoulder.

The detective shook his head. "Nothing, sir. We need you to come with us, though. Now." When none of them moved, he added, "It's about Shawn."

Gus handed Juliet her purse, which she accepted with a distracted "Thank you," as she focused on the other detective who waited by the car. Neither of the officers looked particularly worried or upset, and she felt a moment's spite. She and Henry and Gus were about to get the news—the _confirmation_—that Shawn was dead, and they couldn't bring themselves to look sympathetic?

How dare they act as if all was right in the world? They may not have known Shawn, but he was a policeman's son and a consultant for the SBPD. He deserved some respect for God's sake!

Livid, she stomped to the car and slid into the backseat after Henry, Gus settling on her other side. She crossed her arms and glared into the front seat until it hit her, yet again.

_They were going to get confirmation that Shawn was dead._

She felt Henry clasp her hands, felt his fingers rub soothing circles on her skin. Gus' voice wouldn't stop cracking as he tried to comfort her.

"I'm sorry," she was finally able to whisper to them, and Henry squeezed her hands. His eyes were red, but dry, dull and lifeless. His son was dead.

"You have nothing to apologize for," he said, but she knew it wasn't true. All of this time, and she was still so focused on her own grief. She'd lost her... Boyfriend was trite. Partner too businesslike. Fiancé, not quite. _Shawn_. She'd lost her Shawn. But she hadn't been the only one to lose him.

She was selfish. Selfish, selfish, selfish.

When the car finally stopped, Juliet was too lost to notice where they were. Shawn was dead, and she may have accepted it, but she was nowhere near prepared to face it. The two detectives were leading the way, and she let them. She couldn't focus her attention on anything other than what the chief would say when she confirmed the victim was Shawn or how the newly typed up report would have Shawn Spencer in place of John Doe.

They came to a stop in front of a large wooden door, and Juliet blinked in surprise as she came back to herself and saw where they were. "Why...why are we here?" Unsteady, hoarse, her voice broke with the words.

The detective in the green shirt (she couldn't remember his name, only his disregard for their loss) looked at each of them—Juliet, Henry, and Gus—and nodded at Carlton and the chief as they came up behind them. A moment's hesitation, and then he turned the door handle, pushed the door open, and waved them into the room.

Juliet didn't move. Couldn't move.

There was a thud as Gus passed out, a whispered curse as Henry pushed against the doorway and stumbled forward.

Juliet didn't move. Couldn't.

The heart monitor beeped steadily; Gus moaned as he started to come to. "Oh my god," she finally whispered, gazing desperately at the still form in the hospital bed. "Shawn," she breathed—reverent, broken.

_Whole_.

…

"Made a deal," Shawn croaked, hand spasming in Juliet's one week later, finally awake and aware enough to tell them what had happened. "First week in. They had a mole from a, a rival gang—told them I'd figure out who it was, if...if they let me go."

He winced, his eyes clenching shut. "They lied. Kept me. Tortured him; still hurt me." His eyes were haunted with guilt when they met hers, and Juliet swept her thumb across his knuckles. "Put me in handcuffs after they'd come in to see me...last time. Slipped them. Picked the lock on the door. Played the...scariest game of cat and mouse." His smile was hollow and painful to look at. "Lasted too long. I almost didn't make it out."

"But you did," Henry said, putting an end to his son's accounting. It was a firm period on a story that had been a series of dot-dot-dots as they waited for confirmation the John Doe was Shawn.

"Yeah," Shawn whispered, swallowing hard and blinking quickly. Juliet bowed her head over his hand, forehead resting against his trembling fingers. Shawn squeezed once, and Juliet took a deep breath. "Yeah, I did." Wondering. Relieved. Tremulous.

Juliet pressed a kiss to the back of his hand in agreement. Yes, he did, and soon she'd accept it. Soon she'd believe it. She smiled at him, and Shawn's lips quirked back at her in response.

He was going to be okay, and maybe then…maybe then, she'd be okay, too.

* * *

><p>AN: I've been gone for a while, haven't I? I'm hoping this year will give me more of an opportunity to dive back into this world and share. I think I'm a little rusty—hopefully, y'all still enjoyed. :)<p> 


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